Title: The Battle of Dorking
Author: George Chesney
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.: 0602091h.html
Edition: 1
Language: English
Character set encoding: Latin-1(ISO-8859-1)--8 bit
Date first posted: June 2006
Date most recently updated: June 2013
This eBook was produced by: Richard Scott
Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions
which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice
is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular
paper edition.
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this
file.
This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at
http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html
To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

THE BATTLE OF DORKING:
REMINISCENCES OF A VOLUNTEER

by

George Chesney

You ask me to tell you, my grandchildren, something about my own
share in the great events that happened fifty years ago. 'Tis sad
work turning back to that bitter page in our history, but you may
perhaps take profit in your new homes from the lesson it teaches. For
us in England it came too late. And yet we had plenty of warnings, if
we had only made use of them. The danger did not come on us unawares.
It burst on us suddenly, 'tis true; but its coming was foreshadowed
plainly enough to open our eyes, if we had not been wilfully blind.
We English have only ourselves to blame for the humiliation which has
been brought on the land. Venerable old age! Dishonourable old age, I
say, when it follows a manhood dishonoured as ours has been. I
declare, even now, though fifty years have passed, I can hardly look
a young man in the face when I think I am one of those in whose youth
happened this degradation of Old England---one of those who betrayed
the trust handed down to us unstained by our forefathers.

What a proud and happy country was this fifty years ago!
Free-trade had been working for more than a quarter of a century, and
there seemed to be no end to the riches it was bringing us. London
was growing bigger and bigger; you could not build houses fast enough
for the rich people who wanted to live in them, the merchants who
made the money and came from all parts of the world to settle there,
and the lawyers and doctors and engineers and other, and
trades-people who got their share out of the profits. The streets
reached down to Croydon and Wimbledon, which my father could remember
quite country places; and people used to say that Kingston and
Reigate would soon be joined to London. We thought we could go on
building and multiplying for ever. 'Tis true that even then there was
no lack of poverty; the people who had no money went on increasing as
fast as the rich, and pauperism was already beginning to be a
difficulty; but if the rates were high, there was plenty of money to
pay them with; and as for what were called the middle classes, there
really seemed no limit to their increase and prosperity. People in
those days thought it quite a matter of course to bring a dozen of
children into the world--or, as it used to be said, Providence sent
them that number of babies; and if they couldn't always marry off all
the daughters, they used to manage to provide for the sons, for there
were new openings to be found in all the professions, or in the
Government offices, which went on steadily getting larger. Besides,
in those days young men could be sent out to India, or into the army
or navy; and even then emigration was not uncommon, although not the
regular custom it is now. Schoolmasters, like all other professional
classes, drove a capital trade. They did not teach very much, to be
sure, but new schools with their four or five hundred boys were
springing up all over the country.

Fools that we were! We thought that all this wealth and prosperity
were sent us by Providence, and could not stop coming. In our
blindness we did not see that we were merely a big workshop, making
up the things which came from all parts of the world; and that if
other nations stopped sending us raw goods to work up, we could not
produce them ourselves. True, we had in those days an advantage in
our cheap coal and iron; and had we taken care not to waste the fuel,
it might have lasted us longer. But even then there were signs that
coal and iron would soon become cheaper in foreign parts; while as to
food and other things, England was not better off than it is now. We
were so rich simply because other nations from all parts of the world
were in the habit of sending their goods to us to be sold or
manufactured; and we thought that this would last for ever. And so,
perhaps, it might have lasted, if we had only taken proper means to
keep it; but, in our folly, we were too careless even to insure our
prosperity, and after the course of trade was turned away it would
not come back again.

And yet, if ever a nation had a plain warning, we had. If we were
the greatest trading country, our neighbours were the leading
military power in Europe. They were driving a good trade, too, for
this was before their foolish communism (about which you will hear
when you are older) had ruined the rich without benefiting the poor,
and they were in many respects the first nation in Europe; but it was
on their army that they prided themselves most. And with reason. They
had beaten the Russians and the Austrians, and the Prussians too, in
bygone years, and they thought they were invincible. Well do I
remember the great review held at Paris by the Emperor Napoleon
during the great Exhibition, and how proud he looked showing off his
splendid Guards to the assembled kings and princes. Yet, three years
afterwards, the force so long deemed the first in Europe was
ignominiously beaten, and the whole army taken prisoners. Such a
defeat had never happened before in the world's history; and with
this proof before us of the folly of disbelieving in the possibility
of disaster merely because it had never fallen upon us, it might have
been supposed that we should have the sense to take the lesson to
heart. And the country was certainly roused for a time, and a cry was
raised that the army ought to be reorganised, and our defences
strengthened against the enormous power for sudden attacks which it
was seen other nations were able to put forth. And a scheme of army
reform was brought forward by the Government. It was a half-and-half
affair at best; and, unfortunately, instead of being taken up in
Parliament as a national scheme, it was made a party matter of, and
so fell through. There was a Radical section of the House, too, whose
votes had to be secured by conciliation, and which blindly demanded a
reduction of armaments as the price of allegiance. This party always
decried military establishments as part of a fixed policy for
reducing the influence of the Crown and the aristocracy. They could
not understand that the times had altogether changed, that the Crown
had really no power, and that the Government merely existed at the
pleasure of the House of Commons, and that even Parliament-rule was
beginning to give way to mob-law. At any rate, the Ministry, baffled
on all sides, gave up by degrees all the strong points of a scheme
which they were not heartily in earnest about. It was not that there
was any lack of money, if only it had been spent in the right way.
The army cost enough, and more than enough, to give us a proper
defence, and there were armed men of sorts in plenty and to spare, if
only they had been decently organised. It was in organisation and
forethought that we fell short, because our rulers did not heartily
believe in the need for preparation. The fleet and the Channel, they
said, were sufficient protection. So army reform was put off to some
more convenient season, and the militia and volunteers were left
untrained as before, because to call them out for drill would
"interfere with the industry of the country." We could have given up
some of the industry of those days, forsooth, and yet be busier than
we are now. But why tell you a tale you have so often heard already?
The nation, although uneasy, was misled by the false security its
leaders professed to feel; the warning given by the disasters that
overtook France was allowed to pass by unheeded. We would not even be
at the trouble of putting our arsenals in a safe place, or of
guarding the capital against a surprise, although the cost of doing
so would not have been so much as missed from the national wealth.
The French trusted in their army and its great reputation, we in our
fleet; and in each case the result of this blind confidence was
disaster, such as our forefathers in their hardest struggles could
not have even imagined.

I need hardly tell you how the crash came about. First, the rising
in India drew away a part of our small army; then came the difficulty
with America, which had been threatening for years, and we sent off
ten thousand men to defend Canada--a handful which did not go far to
strengthen the real defences of that country, but formed an
irresistible temptation to the Americans to try and take them
prisoners, especially as the contingent included three battalions of
the Guards. Thus the regular army at home was even smaller than
usual, and nearly half of it was in Ireland to check the talked-of
Fenian invasion fitting out in the West. Worse still--though I do not
know it would really have mattered as things turned out---the fleet
was scattered abroad: some ships to guard the West Indies, others to
check privateering in the China seas, and a large part to try and
protect our colonies on the Northern Pacific shore of America, where,
with incredible folly, we continued to retain possessions which we
could not possibly defend. America was not the great power forty
years ago that it is now; but for us to try and hold territory on her
shores which could only be reached by sailing round the Horn, was as
absurd as if she had attempted to take the Isle of Man before the
indepedence of Ireland. We see this plainly enough now, but we were
all blind then.

It was while we were in this state, with our ships all over the
world, and our little bit of an army cut up into detachments, that
the Secret Treaty was published, and Holland and Denmark were
annexed. People say now that we might have escaped the troubles which
came on us if we had at any rate kept quiet till our other
difficulties were settled; but the English were always an impulsive
lot: the whole country was boiling over with indignation, and the
Government, egged on by the press, and going with the stream,
declared war. We had always got out of scrapes before, and we
believed our old luck and pluck would somehow pull us through.

Then, of course, there was bustle and hurry all over the land. Not
that the calling up of the army reserves caused much stir, for I
think there were only about 5000 altogether, and a good many of these
were not to be found when the time came; but recruiting was going on
all over the country, with a tremendous high bounty, 50,000 more men
having been voted for the army. Then there was a Ballot Bill passed
for adding 55,500 men to the militia; why a round number was not
fixed on I don't know, but the Prime Minister said that this was the
exact quota wanted to put the defences of the country on a sound
footing. Then the shipbuilding that began! Ironclads, despatch-boats,
gunboats, monitors,---every building-yard in the country got its job,
and they were offering ten shillings a-day wages for anybody who
could drive a rivet. This didn't improve the recruiting, you may
suppose. I remember, too, there was a squabble in the House of
Commons about whether artisans should be drawn for the ballot, as
they were so much wanted, and I think they got an exemption. This
sent numbers to the yards; and if we had had a couple of years to
prepare instead of a couple of weeks, I daresay we should have done
very well.

It was on a Monday that the declaration of war was announced, and
in a few hours we got our first inkling of the sort of preparation
the enemy had made for the event which they had really brought about,
although the actual declaration was made by us. A pious appeal to the
God of battles, whom it was said we had aroused, was telegraphed
back; and from that momnet all communication with the north of Europe
was cut off. Our embassies and legations were packed off at an hour's
notice, and it was as if we had suddenly come back to the middle
ages. The dumb astonishment visible all over London the next morning,
when the papers came out void of news, merely hinting at what had
happened, was one of the most startling things in this war of
surprises. But everything had been arranged beforehand; nor ought we
to have been surprised, for we had seen the same Power, only a few
months before, move down half a million of men on a few days' notice,
to conquer the greatest military nation in Europe, with no more fuss
than our War Office used to make over the transport of a brigade from
Aldershot to Brighton,--and this, too, without the allies it had now.
What happened now was not a bit more wonderful in reality; but people
of this country could not bring themselves to believe that what had
never occurred before to England could ever possibly happen. Like our
neighbours, we became wise when it was too late.

Of course the papers were not long in getting news---even the
mighty organisation set at work could not shut out a special
correspondent; and in a very few days, although the telegraphs and
railways were intercepted right across Europe, the main facts oozed
out. An embargo had been laid on all the shipping in every port from
the Baltic to Ostend; the fleets of the two great Powers had moved
out, and it was supposed were assembled in the great northern
harbour, and troops were hurrying on board all the steamers detained
in these places, most of which were British vessels. It was clear
that invasion was intended. Even then we might have been saved, if
the fleet had been ready. The forts which guarded the flotilla were
perhaps too strong for shipping to attempt; but an ironclad or two,
handled as British sailors knew how to use them, might have destroyed
or damaged a part of the transports, and delayed the expedition,
giving us what we wanted, time. But then the best part of the fleet
had been decoyed down to the Dardanelles, and what remained of the
Channel squadron was looking after Fenian filibusters off the west of
Ireland; so it was ten days before the fleet was got together, and by
that time it was plain the enemy's preparations were too far advanced
to be stopped by a coup-de- main. Information, which came chiefly
through Italy, came slowly, and was more or less vague and uncertain;
but this much was known, that at least a couple of hundred thousand
men were embarked or ready to be put on board ships, and that the
flotilla was guarded by more ironclads than we could then muster. I
suppose it was the uncertainty as to the point the enemy would aim at
for landing, and the fear lest he should give us the go-by, that kept
the fleet for several days in the Downs; but it was not until the
Tuesday fortnight after the declaration of war that it weighed anchor
and steamed away for the North Sea. Of course you have read about the
Queen's visit to the fleet the day before, and how she sailed round
the ships in her yacht, and went on board the flag-ship to take leave
of the admiral; how, overcome with emotion, she told him that the
safety of the country was committed to his keeping. You remember,
too, the gallant old officer's reply, and how all the ships' yards
were manned, and how lustily the tars cheered as her Majesty was
rowed off. The account was of course telegraphed to London, and the
high spirits of the fleet infected the whole town. I was outside the
Charing Cross station when the Queen's special train from Dover
arrived, and from the cheering and shouting which greeted her Majesty
as she drove away, you might have supposed we had already won a great
victory. The leading journal, which had gone in strongly for the army
reduction carried out during the session, and had been nervous and
desponding in tone during the past fortnight, suggesting all sorts of
compromises as a way of getting out of the war, came out in a very
jubilant form next morning. "Panic- stricken inquirers,"it said, "ask
now, where are the means of meeting the invasion? We reply that the
invasion will never take place. A British fleet, manned by British
sailors whose courage and enthusiasm are reflected in the people of
this country, is already on the way to meet the presumptuous foe. The
issue of a contest between British ships and those of any other
country, under anything like equal odds, can never be doubtful.
England awaits with calm confidence the issue of the impending
action."

Such were the words of the leading article, and so we all felt. It
was on Tuesday, the 10th of August, that the fleet sailed from the
Downs. It took with it a submarine cable to lay down as it advanced,
so that continuous communication was kept up, and the papers were
publishing special editions every few minutes with the latest news.
This was the first time such a thing had been done, and the feat was
accepted as a good omen. Whether it is true that the Admiralty made
use of the cable to keep on sending contradictory orders, which took
the command out of the admiral's hands, I can't say; but all that the
admiral sent in return was a few messages of the briefest kind, which
neither the Admiralty nor any one else could have made any use of.
Such a ship had gone off reconnoitring; such another had
rejoined--fleet was in latitude so and so. This went on till the
Thursday morning. I had just come up to town by train as usual, and
was walking to my office, when the newsboys began to cry, "New
edition--enemy's fleet in sight!" You may imagine the scene in
London! Business still went on at the banks, for bills matured
although the independence of the country was being fought out under
our own eyes, so to say, and the speculators were active enough. But
even with the people who were making and losing their fortunes, the
interest in the fleet overcame everything else; men who went to pay
in or draw out their money stopped to show the last bulletin to the
cashier. As for the street, you could hardly get along for the crowd
stopping to buy and read the papers; while at every house or office
the members sat restlessly in the common room, as if to keep together
for company, sending out some one of their number every few minutes
to get the latest edition. At least this is what happened at our
office; but to sit still was as impossible as to do anything, and
most of us went out and wandered about among the crowd, under a sort
of feeling that the news was got quicker at in this way. Bad as were
the times coming, I think the sickening suspense of that day, and the
shock which followed, was almost the worst that we underwent. It was
about ten o'clock that the first telegram came; an hour later the
wire announced that the admiral had signalled to form line of battle,
and shortly afterwards that the order was given to bear down on the
enemy and engage. At twelve came the announcement, "Fleet opened fire
about three miles to leeward of us"--that is, the ship with the
cable. So far all had been expectancy, then came the first token of
calamity. "An ironclad has been blown up"--"the enemy's torpedoes are
doing great damage"--"the flag-ship is laid aborad the enemy"--"the
flag-ship appears to be sinking"--"the vice-admiral has signalled
to"--there the cable became silent, and, as you know, we heard no
more till, two days afterwards, the solitary ironclad which escaped
the disaster steamed into Portsmouth.

Then the whole story came out--how our sailors, gallant as ever,
had tried to close with the enemy; how the latter evaded the conflict
at close quarters, and, sheering off, left behind them the fatal
engines which sent our ships, one after the other, to the bottom; how
all this happened almost in a few minutes. The Government, it
appears, had received warnings of this invention; but to the nation
this stunning blow was utterly unexpected. That Thursday I had to go
home early for regimental drill, but it was impossible to remain
doing nothing, so when that was over I went up to town again, and
after waiting in expectation of news which never came, and missing
the midnight train, I walked home. It was a hot sultry night, and I
did not arrive till near sunrise. The whole town was quite still--the
lull before the storm; and as I let myself in with my latch-key, and
went softly up- stairs to my room to avoid waking the sleeping
household, I could not but contrast the peacefulness of the
morning--no sound breaking the silence but the singing of the birds
in the garden--with the passionate remorse and indignation that would
break out with the day. Perhaps the inmates of the rooms were as
wakeful as myself; but the house in its stillness was just as it used
to be when I came home alone from balls or parties in the happy days
gone by. Tired though I was, I could not sleep, so I went down to the
river and had a swim; and on returning found the household was
assembling for early breakfast. A sorrowful household it was,
although the burden pressing on each was partly an unseen one. My
father, doubting whether his firm could last through the day; my
mother, her distress about my brother, now with his regiment on the
coast, already exceeding that which she felt for the public
misfortune, had come down, although hardly fit to leave her room. My
sister Clara was worst of all, for she could not but try to disguise
her special interest in the fleet; and though we had all guessed that
her heart was given to the young lieutenant in the flag-ship--the
first vessel to go down--a love unclaimed could not be told, nor
could we express the sympathy we felt for the poor girl. That
breakfast, the last meal we ever had together, was soon ended, and my
father and I went up to town by an early train, and got there just as
the fatal announcement of the loss of the fleet was telegraphed from
Portsmouth.

The panic and excitement of that day--how the funds went down to
35; the run upon the bank and its stoppage; the fall of half the
houses in the city; how the Government issued a notification
suspending specie payment and the tendering of bills--this last
precaution too late for most firms, Graham & Co. among the
number, which stopped payment as soon as my father got to the office;
the call to arms, and the unanimous response of the country--all this
is history which I need not repeat. You wish to hear about my own
share in the business of the time. Well, volunteering had increased
immensely from the day war was proclaimed, and our regiment went up
in a day or two from its usual strength of 600 to nearly 1000. But
the stock of rifles was deficient. We were promised a further supply
in a few days, which however, we never received; and while waiting
for them the regiment had to be divided into two parts, the recruits
drilling with the rifles in the morning, and we old hands in the
evening. The failures and stoppage of work on this black Friday threw
an immense number of young men out of employment, and we recruited up
to 1400 strong by the next day; but what was the use of all these men
without arms? On the Saturday it was announced that a lot of
smooth-bore muskets in store at the Tower would be served out to
regiments applying for them, and a regular scramble took place among
the volunteers for them, and our people got hold of a couple of
hundred. But you might almost as well have tried to learn rifle-drill
with a broom-stick as with old brown bess; besides, there was no
smooth-bore ammunition in the country. A national subscription was
opened for the manufacture of rifles at Birmingham, which ran up to a
couple of millions in two days, but, like everything else, this came
too late. To return to the volunteers: camps had been formed a
fortnight before at Dover, Brighton, Harwich, and other places, of
regulars and militia, and the headquarters of most of the volunteer
regiments were attached to one or other of them, and the volunteers
themselves used to go down for drill from day to day, as they could
spare time, and on Friday an order went out that they should be
permanently embodied; but the metropolitan volunteers were still kept
about London as a sort of reserve, till it could be seen at what
point the invasion would take place. We were all told off to brigades
and divisions. Our brigade consisted of the 4th Royal Surrey Militia,
the 1st Surrey Administrative Battalion, as it was called, at
Clapham, the 7th Surrey Volunteers at Southwark, and ourselves; but
only our battalion and the militia were quartered in the same place,
and the whole brigade had merely two or three afternoons together at
brigade exercise in Bushey Park before the march took place. Our
brigadier belonged to a line regiment in Ireland, and did not join
till the very morning the order came. Meanwhile, during the
preliminary fortnight, the militia colonel commanded. But though we
volunteers were busy with our drill and preparations, those of us
who, like myself, belonged to Government offices, had more than
enough of office work to do, as you may suppose. The volunteer clerks
were allowed to leave office at four o'clock, but the rest were kept
hard at the desk far into the night. Orders to the lord-lieutenants,
to the magistrates, notifications, all the arrangements for cleaning
out the workhouses for hospitals--these and a hundred other things
had to be managed in our office, and there was as much bustle indoors
as out. Fortunate we were to be so busy-- the people to be pitied
were those who had nothing to do. And on Sunday (that was the 15th
August) work went on just as usual. We had an early parade and drill,
and I went up to town by the nine o'clock train in my uniform, taking
my rifle with me in case of accidents, and luckily too, as it turned
out, a mackintosh overcoat. When I got to Waterloo there were all
sorts of rumours afloat. A fleet had been seen off the Downs, and
some of the despatch-boats which were hovering about the coasts
brought news that there was a large flotilla off Harwich, but nothing
could be seen from the shore, as the weather was hazy. The enemy's
light ships had taken and sunk all the fishing-boats they could
catch, to prevent the news of their whereabouts reaching us; but a
few escaped during the night and reported that the Inconstant frigate
coming home from North America, without any knowledge of what had
taken place, had sailed right into the enemy's fleet and been
captured. In town the troops were all getting ready for a move; the
Guards in the Wellington Barracks were under arms, and their
baggage-waggons packed and drawn up in the Bird-cage Walk. The usual
guard at the Horse Guards had been withdrawn, and orderlies and
staff-officers were going to and fro. All this I saw on the way to my
office, where I worked away till twelve o'clock, and then feeling
hungry after my early breakfast, I went across Parliament Street to
my club to get some luncheon. There were about half-a-dozen men in
the coffee-room, none of whom I knew; but in a minute or two Danvers
of the Treasury entered in a tremendous hurry. From him I got the
first bit of authentic news I had had that day. The enemy had landed
in force near Harwich, and the metropolitan regiments were ordered
down there to reinforce the troops already collected in that
neighbourhood; his regiment was to parade at one o'clock, and he had
come to get something to eat before starting. We bolted a hurried
lunch, and were just leaving the club when a messenger from the
Treasury came running into the hall.

"Oh, Mr. Danvers," said he, "I've come to look for you, sir; the
secretary says that all the gentlemen are wanted at the office, and
that you must please not one of you go with the regiments."

"The devil!" cried Danvers.

"Do you know if that order extends to all the public offices?" I
asked.

"I don't know," said the man, "but I believe it do. I know there's
messengers gone round to all the clubs and luncheon-bars to look for
the gentlemen; the secretary says it's quite impossible any one can
be spared just now, there's so much work to do; there's orders just
come to send off our records to Birmingham to-night."

I did not wait to condole with Danvers, but, just glancing up
Whitehall to see if any of our messengers were in pursuit, I ran off
as hard as I could for Westminister Bridge, and so to the Waterloo
station.

The place had quite changed its aspect since the morning. The
regular service of trains had ceased, and the station and approaches
were full of troops, among them the Guards and artillery. Everything
was very orderly: the men had piled arms, and were standing about in
groups. There was no sign of high spirits or enthusiasm. Matters had
become too serious. Every man's face reflected the general feeling
that we had neglected the warnings given us, and that now the danger
so long derided as impossible and absurd had really come and found us
unprepared. But the soldiers, if grave, looked determined, like men
who meant to do their duty whatever might happen. A train full of
guardsmen was just starting for Guildford. I was told it would stop
at Surbiton, and, with several other volunteers, hurrying like myself
to join our regiment, got a place in it. We did not arrive a moment
too soon, for the regiment was marching from Kingston down to the
station. The destination of our brigade was the east coast. Empty
carriages were drawn up in the siding, and our regiment was to go first.
A large crowd was assembled to see it off, including the recruits who
had joined during the last fortnight, and who formed by far the
largest part of our strength. They were to stay behind, and were
certainly very much in the way already; for as all the officers and
sergeants belonged to the active part, there was no one to keep
discipline among them, and they came crowding around us, breaking the
ranks and making it difficult to get into the train. Here I saw our
new brigadier for the first time. He was a soldier-like man, and no
doubt knew his duty, but he appeared new to volunteers, and did not
seem to know how to deal with gentlemen privates. I wanted very much
to run home and get my greatcoat and knapsack, which I had bought a
few days ago, but feared to be left behind; a good-natured recruit
volunteered to fetch them for me, but he had not returned before we
started, and I began the campaign with a kit consisting of a
mackintosh and a small pouch of tobacco.

It was a tremendous squeeze in the train; for, besides the ten men
sitting down, there were three or four standing up in every
compartment, and the afternoon was close and sultry, and there were
so many stoppages on the way that we took nearly an hour and a half
crawling up to Waterloo. It was between five and six in the afternoon
when we arrived there, and it was nearly seven before we marched up
to the Shoreditch station. The whole place was filled up with stores
and ammunition, to be sent off to the east, so we piled arms in the
street and scattered about to get food and drink, of which most of us
stood in need, especially the latter, for some were already feeling
the worse for the heat and crush. I was just stepping into a
public-house with Travers, when who should drive up but his pretty
wife? Most of our friends had paid their adieus at the Surbiton
station, but she had driven up by the road in his brougham, bringing
their little boy to have a last look at papa. She had also brought
his knapsack and greatcoat, and, what was still more acceptable, a
basket containing fowls, tongue, bread-and-butter, and biscuits, and
a couple of bottles of claret,---which priceless luxuries they
insisted on my sharing.

Meanwhile the hours went on. The 4th Surrey Militia, which had
marched all the way from Kingston, had come up, as well as the other
volunteer corps; the station had been partly cleared of the stores
that encumbered it; some artillery, two militia regiments, and a
battalion of the line, had been despatched, and our turn to start had
come, and long lines of carriages were drawn up ready for us; but
still we remained in the street. You may fancy the scene. There
seemed to be as many people as ever in London, and we could hardly
move for the crowds of spectators--fellows hawking fruits and
volunteers' comforts, newsboys and so forth, to say nothing of the
cabs and omnibuses; while orderlies and staff-officers were
constantly riding up with messages. A good many of the militiamen,
and some of our people too, had taken more than enough to drink;
perhaps a hot sun had told on empty stomachs; anyhow, they became
very noisy. The din, dirt, and heat were indescribable. So the
evening wore on, and all the information our officers could get from
the brigadier, who appeared to be acting under another general, was,
that orders had come to stand fast for the present. Gradually the
street became quieter and cooler. The brigadier, who, by way of
setting an example, had remained for some hours without leaving his
saddle, had got a chair out of a shop, and sat nodding in it; most of
the men were lying down or sitting on the pavement--some sleeping,
some smoking. In vain had Travers begged his wife to go home. She
declared that, having come so far, she would stay and see the last of
us. The brougham had been sent away to a by- street, as it blocked up
the road; so he sat on a doorstep, she by him on the knapsack. Little
Arthur, who had been delighted at the bustle and the uniforms, and in
high spirits, became at last very cross, and eventually cried himself
to sleep in his father's arms, his golden hair and one little dimpled
arm hanging over his shoulder. Thus went on the weary hours, till
suddenly the assembly sounded, and we all started up. We were to
return to Waterloo. The landing on the east was only a feint--so ran
the rumour--the real attack was on the south. Anything seemed better
than indecision and delay, and, tired though we were, the march back
was gladly hailed. Mrs Travers, who made us take the remains of the
luncheon with us, we left to look for her carriage; little Arthur,
who was awake again, but very good and quiet, in her arms.

We did not reach Waterloo till nearly midnight, and there was some
delay in starting again. Several volunteer and militia regiments had
arrived from the north; the station and all its approaches were
jammed up with men, and trains were being despatched away as fast as
they could be made up. All this time no news had reached us since the
first announcement; but the excitement then aroused had now passed
away under the influence of fatigue and want of sleep, and most of us
dozed off as soon as we got under way. I did, at any rate, and was
awoke by the train stopping at Leatherhead. There was an up-train
returning to town, and some persons in it were bringing up news from
the coast. We could not, from our part of the train, hear what they
said, but the rumour was passed up from one carriage to another. The
enemy had landed in force at Worthing. Their position had been
attacked by the troops from the camp near Brighton, and the action
would be renewed in the morning. The volunteers had behaved very
well. This was all the information we could get. So, then, the
invasion had come at last. It was clear, at any rate, from what was
said, that the enemy had not been driven back yet, and we should be
in time most likely to take a share in the defence. It was sunrise
when the train crawled into Dorking, for there had been numerous
stoppages on the way; and here it was pulled up for a long time, and
we were told to get out and stretch ourselves--an order gladly
responded to, for we had been very closely packed all night. Most of
us, too, took the opportunity to make an early breakfast off the food
we had brought from Shoreditch. I had the remains of Mrs Travers's
fowl and some bread wrapped up in my waterproof, which I shared with
one or two less provident comrades. We could see from our
halting-place that the line was blocked with trains beyond and
behind. It must have been about eight o'clock when we got orders to
take our seats again, and the train began to move slowly on towards
Horsham. Horsham Junction was the point to be occupied--so the rumour
went; but about ten o'clock, when halting at a small station a few
miles short of it, the order came to leave the train, and our brigade
formed in column on the highroad. Beyond us was some field-
artillery; and further on, so we were told by a staff-officer,
another brigade, which was to make up a division with ours. After
more delays the line began to move, but not forwards; our route was
towards the north-west, and a sort of suspicion of the state of
affairs flashed across my mind. Horsham was already occupied by the
enemy's advanced- guard, and we were to fall back on Leith Common,
and take up a position threatening his flank, should he advance
either to Guildford or Dorking. This was soon confirmed by what the
colonel was told by the brigadier and passed down the ranks; and just
now, for the first time, the boom of artillery came up on the light
south breeze. In about an hour the firing ceased. What did it mean?
We could not tell. Meanwhile our march continued. The day was very
close and sultry, and the clouds of dust stirred up by our feet
almost suffocated us. I had saved a soda-water-bottleful of
yesterday's claret; but this went only a short way, for there were
many mouths to share it with, and the thirst soon became as bad as
ever. Several of the regiment fell out from faintness, and we made
frequent halts to rest and let the stragglers come up. At last we
reached the top of Leith Hill. It is a striking spot, being the
highest point in the south of England. The view from it is splendid,
and most lovely did the country look this summer day, although the
grass was brown from the long drought. It was a great relief to get
from the dusty road on to the common, and at the top of the hill
there was a refreshing breeze. We could see now, for the first time,
the whole of our division. Our own regiment did not muster more than
500, for it contained a large number of Government office men who had
been detained, like Danvers, for duty in town, and others were not
much larger; but the militia regiment was very strong, and the whole
division, I was told, mustered nearly 5000 rank and file. We could
see other troops also in extension of our division, and could count a
couple of field-batteries of Royal Artillery, besides some heavy
guns, belonging to the volunteers apparently, drawn by carthorses.
The cooler air, the sense of numbers, and the evident strength of the
position we held, raised our spirits, which, I am not ashamed to say,
had all the morning been depressed. It was not that we were not eager
to close with the enemy, but that the counter-marching and halting
ominously betokened a vacillation of purpose in those who had the
guidance of affairs. Here in two days the invaders had got more than
twenty miles inland, and nothing effectual had been done to stop
them. And the ignorance in which we volunteers, from the colonel
downwards, were kept of their movements, filled us with uneasiness.
We could not but depict to ourselves the enemy as carrying out all
the while firmly his well-considered scheme of attack, and
contrasting it with our own uncertainty of purpose. The very silence
with which his advance appeared to be conducted filled us with
mysterious awe. Meanwhile the day wore on, and we became faint with
hunger, for we had eaten nothing since daybreak. No provisions came
up, and there were no signs of any commissariat officers. It seems
that when we were at the Waterloo station a whole trainful of
provisions was drawn up there, and our colonel proposed that one of
the trucks should be taken off and attached to our train, so that we
might have some food at hand; but the officer in charge, an
assistant-controller I think they called him--this control department
was a newfangled affair which did us almost as much harm as the enemy
in the long-run--said his orders were to keep all the stores
together, and that he couldn't issue any without authority from the
head of his department. So we had to go without. Those who had
tobacco smoked---indeed there is no solace like a pipe under such
circumstances. The militia regiment, I heard afterwards, had two
days' provisions in their haversacks; it was we volunteers who had no
haversacks, and nothing to put in them. All this time, I should tell
you, while we were lying on the grass with our arms piled, the
General, with the brigadiers and staff, was riding about slowly from
point to point of the edge of the common, looking out with his glass
towards the south valley. Orderlies and staff- officers were
constantly coming, and about three o'clock there arrived up a road
that led towards Horsham a small body of lancers and a regiment of
yeomanry, who had, it appears, been out in advance, and now drew up a
short way in front of us in column facing to the south. Whether they
could see anything in their front I could not tell, for we were
behind the crest of the hill ourselves, and so could not look into
the valley below; but shortly afterwards the assembly sounded.
Commanding officers were called out by the General, and received some
brief instructions; and the column began to march again towards
London, the militia this time coming last in our brigade. A rumour
regarding the object of this counter-march soon spread through the
ranks. The enemy was not going to attack us here, but was trying to
turn the position on both sides, one column pointing to Reigate, the
other to Aldershot; and so we must fall back and take up a position
at Dorking. The line of the great chalk-range was to be defended. A
large force was concentrating at Guildford, another at Reigate, and
we should find supports at Dorking. The enemy would be awaited in
these positions. Such, so far as we privates could get at the facts,
was to be the plan of operations. Down the hill, therefore, we
marched. From one or two points we could catch a brief sight of the
railway in the valley below running from Dorking to Horsham. Men in
red were working upon it here and there. They were the Royal
Engineers, some one said, breaking up the line. On we marched. The
dust seemed worse than ever. In one village through which we
passed--I forget the name now--there was a pump on the green. Here we
stopped and had a good drink; and passing by a large farm, the
farmer's wife and two or three of her maids stood at the gate and
handed us hunches of bread and cheese out of some baskets. I got the
share of a bit, but the bottom of the good woman's baskets must soon
have been reached. Not a thing else was to be had till we got to
Dorking about six o'clock; indeed most of the farm-houses appeared
deserted already. On arriving there we were drawn up in the street,
and just opposite was a baker's shop. Our fellows asked leave at
first by twos and threes to go in and buy some loaves, but soon
others began to break off and crowd into the shop, and at last a
regular scramble took place. If there had been any order preserved,
and a regular distribution arranged, they would no doubt have been
steady enough, but hunger makes men selfish; each man felt that his
stopping behind would do no good--he would simply lose his share; so
it ended by almost the whole regiment joining in the scrimmage, and
the shop was cleared out in a couple of minutes; while as for paying,
you could not get your hand into your pocket for the crush. The
colonel tried in vain to stop the row; some of the officers were as
bad as the men. Just then a staff-officer rode by; he could scarcely
make way for the crowd, and was pushed against rather rudely, and in
a passion he called out to us to behave properly, like soldiers, and
not like a parcel of roughs. "Oh, blow it, governor," said Dick Wake,
"you aren't agoing to come between a poor cove and his grub." Wake
was an articled attorney, and, as we used to say in those days, a
cheeky young chap, although a good-natured fellow enough. At this
speech, which was followed by some more remarks of the sort from
those about him, the staff-officer became angrier still. "Orderly,"
cried he to the lancer riding behind him, "take that man to the
provostmarshal. As for you, sir," he said, turning to our colonel,
who sat on his horse silent with astonishment, "if you don't want
some of your men shot before their time, you and your precious
officers had better keep this rabble in a little better order;" and
poor Dick, who looked crestfallen enough, would certainly have been
led off at the tail of the sergeant's horse, if the brigadier had not
come up and arranged matters, and marched us off to the hill beyond
the town. This incident made us both angry and crestfallen. We were
annoyed at being so roughly spoken to: at the same time we felt we
had deserved it, and were ashamed of the misconduct. Then, too, we
had lost confidence in our colonel, after the poor figure he cut in
the affair. He was a good fellow, the colonel, and showed himself a
brave one next day; but he aimed too much at being popular, and
didn't understand a bit how to command.

To resume:--We had scarcely reached the hill above the town, which
we were told was to be our bivouac for the night, when the welcome
news came that a food-train had arrived at the station; but there
were no carts to bring the things up, so a fatigue-party went down
and carried back a supply to us in their arms,--loaves, a barrel of
rum, packets of tea, and joints of meat--abundance for all; but there
was not a kettle or a cooking-pot in the regiment, and we could not
eat the meat raw. The colonel and officers were no better off. They
had arranged to have a regular mess, with crockery, steward, and all
complete, but the establishment never turned up, and what had become
of it no one knew. Some of us were sent back into the town to see
what we could procure in the way of cooking utensils. We found the
street full of artillery, baggage-waggons, and mounted officers, and
volunteers shopping like ourselves; and all the houses appeared to be
occupied by troops. We succeeded in getting a few kettles and
saucepans, and I obtained for myself a leather bag, with a strap to
go over the shoulder, which proved very handy afterwards; and thus
laden, we trudged back to our camp on the hill, filling the kettles
with dirty water from a little stream which runs between the hill and
the town, for there was none to be had above. It was nearly a couple
of miles each way; and, exhausted as we were with marching and want
of rest, we were almost too tired to eat. The cooking was of the
roughest, as you may suppose; all we could do was to cut off slices
of the meat and boil them in the saucepans, using our fingers for
forks. The tea, however, was very refreshing; and, thirsty as we
were, we drank it by the gallon. Just before it grew dark, the
brigade-major came round, and, with the adjutant, showed our colonel
how to set a picket in advance of our line a little way down the face
of the hill. It was not necessary to place one, I suppose, because
the town in our front was still occupied with troops; but no doubt
the practice would be useful. We had also a quarter- guard, and a
line of sentries in front and rear of our line, communicating with
those of the regiments on our flanks. Firewood was plentiful, for the
hill was covered with beautiful wood; but it took some time to
collect it, for we had nothing but our pocket-knives to cut down the
branches with.

So we lay down to sleep. My company had no duty, and we had the
night undisturbed to ourselves; but, tired though I was, the
excitement and the novelty of the situation made sleep difficult. And
although the night was still and warm, and we were sheltered by the
woods, I soon found it chilly with no better covering than my thin
dust-coat, the more so as my clothes, saturated with perspiration
during the day, had never dried; and before daylight I woke from a
short nap, shivering with cold, and was glad to get warm with others
by a fire. I then noticed that the opposite hills on the south were
dotted with fires; and we thought at first they must belong to the
enemy, but we were told that the ground up there was still held by a
strong rear-guard of regulars, and that there need be no fear of a
surprise.

At the first sign of dawn the bugles of the regiments sounded the
reveillé, and we were ordered to fall in, and the roll was
called. About twenty men were absent, who had fallen out sick the day
before; they had been sent up to London by train during the night, I
believe. After standing in column for about half an hour, the
brigademajor came down with orders to pile arms and stand easy; and
perhaps half an hour afterwards we were told to get breakfast as
quickly as possible, and to cook a day's food at the same time. This
operation was managed pretty much in the same way as the evening
before, except that we had our cooking pots and kettles ready.
Meantime there was leisure to look around, and from where we stood
there was a commanding view of one of the most beautiful scenes in
England. Our regiment was drawn up on the extremity of the ridge
which runs from Guildford to Dorking. This is indeed merely a part of
the great chalk-range which extends from beyond Aldershot east to the
Medway; but there is a gap in the ridge just here where the little
stream that runs past Dorking turns suddenly to the north, to find
its way to the Thames. We stood on the slope of the hill, as it
trends down eastward towards this gap, and had passed our bivouac in
what appeared to be a gentleman's park. A little way above us, and to
our right, was a very fine country-seat to which the part was
attached, now occupied by the headquarters of our division. From this
house the hill sloped steeply down southward to the valley below,
which runs nearly east and west parallel to the ridge, and carries
the railway and the road from Guildford to Reigate; and in which
valley, immediately in front of the chateau, and perhaps a mile and a
half distant from it, was the little town of Dorking, nestled in the
trees, and rising up the foot of the slopes on the other side of the
valley which stretched away to Leith Common, the scene of yesterday's
march. Thus the main part of the town of Dorking was on our right
front, but the suburbs stretched away eastward nearly to our proper
front, culminating in a small railway station, from which the grassy
slopes of the park rose up dotted with shrubs and trees to where we
were standing. Round this railway station was a cluster of villas and
one or two mills, of whose gardens we thus had a bird's-eye view,
their little ornamental ponds glistening like looking-glasses in the
morning sun. Immediately on our left the park sloped steeply down to
the gap before mentioned, through which ran the little stream, as
well as the railway from Epsom to Brighton, nearly due north and
south, meeting the Guildford and Reigate line at right angles. Close
to the point of intersection and the little station already
mentioned, was the station of the former line where we had stopped
the day before. Beyond the gap on the east (our left), and in
continuation of our ridge, rose the chalk-hill again. The shoulder of
this ridge overlooking the gap is called Box Hill, from the shrubbery
of boxwood with which it was covered. Its sides were very steep, and
the top of the ridge was covered with troops. The natural strength of
our position was manifested at a glance; a high grassy ridge steep to
the south, with a stream in front, and but little cover up the sides.
It seemed made for a battle-field. The weak point was the gap; the
ground at the junction of the railways and the roads immediately at
the entrance of the gap formed a little valley, dotted, as I have
said, with buildings and gardens. This, in one sense, was the key of
the position; for although it would not be tenable while we held the
ridge commanding it, the enemy by carrying this point and advancing
through the gap would cut our line in two. But you must not suppose I
scanned the ground thus critically at the time. Anybody, indeed,
might have been struck with the natural advantages of our position;
but what, as I remember, most impressed me, was the peaceful beauty
of the scene--the little town with the outline of the houses obscured
by a blue mist, the massive crispness of the foliage, the outlines of
the great trees, lighted up by the sun, and relieved by deep-blue
shade. So thick was the timber here, rising up the southern slopes of
the valley, that it looked almost as if it might have been a primeval
forest. The quiet of the scene was the more impressive because
contrasted in the mind with the scenes we expected to follow; and I
can remember, as if it were yesterday, the sensation of bitter regret
that it should now be too late to avert this coming desecration of
our country, which might so easily have been prevented. A little
firmness, a little prevision on the part of our rulers, even a little
common- sense, and this great calamity would have been rendered
utterly impossible. Too late, alas! We were like the foolish virgins
in the parable.

But you must not suppose the scene immediately around was gloomy:
the camp was brisk and bustling enough. We had got over the stress of
weariness; our stomachs were full; we felt a natural enthusiasm at
the prospect of having so soon to take a part as the real defenders
of the country, and we were inspirited at the sight of the large
force that was now assembled. Along the slopes which trended off to
the rear of our ridge, troops came marching up--volunteers, militia,
cavalry, and guns; these, I heard, had come down from the north as
far as Leatherhead the night before, and had marched over at
daybreak. Long trains, too, began to arrive by the rail through the
gap, one after the other, containing militia and volunteers, who
moved up to the ridge to the right and left, and took up their
position, massed for the most part on the slopes which ran up from,
and in rear of, where we stood. We now formed part of an army corps,
we were told, consisting of three divisions, but what regiments
composed the other two divisions I never heard. All this movement we
could distinctly see from our position, for we had hurried over our
breakfast, expecting every minute that the battle would begin, and
now stood or sat about on the ground near our piled arms. Early in
the morning, too, we saw a very long train come along the valley from
the direction of Guildford, full of redcoats. It halted at the little
station at our feet, and the troops alighted. We could soon make out
their bear-skins. They were the Guards, coming to reinforce this part
of the line. Leaving a detachment of skirmishers to hold the line of
the railway embankment, the main body marched up with a springy step
and with the band playing, and drew up across the gap on our left, in
prolongation of our line. There appeared to be three battalions of
them, for they formed up in that number of columns at short
intervals.

Shortly after this I was sent over to Box Hill with a message from
our colonel to the colonel of a volunteer regiment stationed there,
to know whether an ambulance-cart was obtainable, as it was reported
this regiment was well supplied with carriage, whereas we were
without any: my mission, however, was futile. Crossing the valley, I
found a scene of great confusion at the railway station. Trains were
still coming in with stores, ammunition, guns, and appliances of all
sorts, which were being unloaded as fast as possible; but there were
scarcely any means of getting the things off. There were plenty of
waggons of all sorts, but hardly any horses to draw them, and the
whole place was blocked up; while, to add to the confusion, a regular
exodus had taken place of the people from the town, who had been
warned that it was likely to be the scene of fighting. Ladies and
women of all sorts and ages, and children, some with bundles, some
empty-handed, were seeking places in the train, but there appeared no
one on the spot authorised to grant them, and these poor creatures
were pushing their way up and down, vainly asking for information and
permission to get away. In the crowd I observed our surgeon, who
likewise was in search of an ambulance of some sort: his whole
professional apparatus, he said, consisted of a case of instruments.
Also in the crowd I stumbled upon Wood, Travers's old coachman. He
had been sent down by his mistress to Guildford, because it was
supposed our regiment had gone there, riding the horse, and laden
with a supply of things--food, blankets, and, of course, a letter. He
had also brought my knapsack; but at Guildford the horse was pressed
for artillery work, and a receipt for it given him in exchange, so he
had been obliged to leave all the heavy packages there, including my
knapsack; but the faithful old man had brought on as many things as
he could carry, and hearing that we should be found in this part, had
walked over thus laden from Guildford. He said that place was crowded
with troops, and that the heights were lined with them the whole way
between the two towns; also, that some trains with wounded had passed
up from the coast in the night, through Guildford. I led him off to
where our regiment was, relieving the old man from part of the load
he was staggering under. The food sent was not now so much needed,
but the plates, knives, and drinking-vessels, promised to be
handy--and Travers, you may be sure, was delighted to get his letter;
while a couple of newspapers the old man had brought were eagerly
competed for by all, even at this critical moment, for we had heard
no authentic news since we left London on Sunday. And even at this
distance of time, although I only glanced down the paper, I can
remember almost the very words I read there. They were both copies of
the same paper: the first, published on Sunday evening, when the news
had arrived of the successful landing at three points, was written in
a tone of despair. The country must confess that it had been taken by
surprise. The conqueror would be satisfied with the humiliation
inflicted by a peace dictated on our own shores; it was the clear
duty of the Government to accept the best terms obtainable, and to
avoid further bloodshed and disaster, and avert the fall of our
tottering mercantile credit. The next morning's issue was in quite a
different tone. Apparently the enemy had received a check, for we
were here exhorted to resistance. An impregnable position was to be
taken up along the Downs, a force was concentrating there far
outnumbering the rash invaders, who, with an invincible line before
them, and the sea behind, had no choice between destruction or
surrender. Let there be no pusillanimous talk of negotation, the
fight must be fought out; and there could be but one issue. England,
expectant but calm, awaited with confidence the result of the attack
on its unconquerable volunteers. The writing appeared to me eloquent,
but rather inconsistent. The same paper said the Government had sent
off 500 workmen from Woolwich, to open a branch arsenal at
Birmingham.

All this time we had nothing to do, except to change our position,
which we did every few minutes, now moving up the hill farther to our
right, now taking ground lower down to our left, as one order after
another was brought down the line; but the staff-officers were
galloping about perpetually with orders, while the rumble of the
artillery as they moved about from one part of the field to another
went on almost incessantly. At last the whole line stood to arms, the
bands struck up, and the general commanding our army corps came
riding down with his staff. We had seen him several times before, as
we had been moving frequently about the position during the morning;
but he now made a sort of formal inspection. He was a tall thin man,
with long light hair, very well mounted, and as he sat his horse with
an erect seat, and came prancing down the line, at a little distance
he looked as if he might be five-and-twenty; but I believe he had
served more than fifty years, and had been made a peer for services
performed when quite an old man. I remember that he had more
decorations than there was room for on the breast of his coat, and
wore them suspended like a necklace round his neck. Like all the
other generals, he was dressed in blue, with a cocked-hat and
feathers--a bad plan, I thought, for it made them very conspicuous.
The general halted before our battalion, and after looking at us a
while, made a short address: We had a post of honour next her
Majesty's Guards, and would show ourselves worthy of it, and of the
name of Englishmen. It did not need, he said, to be a general to see
the strength of our position; it was impregnable, if properly held.
Let us wait till the enemy was well pounded, and then the word would
be given to go at him. Above everything, we must be steady. He then
shook hands with our colonel, we gave him a cheer, and he rode on to
where the Guards were drawn up.

Now then, we thought, the battle will begin. But still there were
no signs of the enemy; and the air, though hot and sultry, began to
be very hazy, so that you could scarcely see the town below, and the
hills opposite were merely a confused blur, in which no features
could be distinctly made out. After a while, the tension of feeling
which followed the general's address relaxed, and we began to feel
less as if everything depended on keeping our rifles firmly grasped:
we were told to pile arms again, and got leave to go down by tens and
twenties to the stream below to drink. This stream, and all the
hedges and banks on our side of it, were held by our skirmishers, but
the town had been abandoned. The position appeared an excellent one,
except that the enemy, when they came, would have almost better cover
than our men. While I was down at the brook, a column emerged from
the town, making for our position. We thought for a moment it was the
enemy, and you could not make out the colour of the uniforms for the
dust; but it turned out to be our rearguard, falling back from the
opposite hills which they had occupied the previous night. One
battalion, of rifles, halted for a few minutes at the stream to let
the men drink, and I had a minute's talk with a couple of the
officers. They had formed part of the force which had attacked the
enemy on their first landing. They had it all their own way, they
said, at first, and could have beaten the enemy back easily if they
had been properly supported; but the whole thing was mismanaged. The
volunteers came on very pluckily, they said, but they got into
confusion, and so did the militia, and the attack failed with serious
loss. It was the wounded of this force which had passed through
Guildford in the night. The officers asked us eagerly about the
arrangements for the battle, and when we said that the Guards were
the only regular troops in this part of the field, shook their heads
ominously.

While we were talking, a third officer came up; he was a dark man
with a smooth face and a curious excited manner. "You are volunteers,
I suppose," he said, quickly, his eye flashing the while. "Well, now,
look here; mind I don't want to hurt your feelings, or to say
anything unpleasant, but I'll tell you what; if all you gentlemen
were just to go back, and leave us to fight it out alone, it would be
a devilish good thing. We could do it a precious deal better without
you, I assure you. We don't want your help, I can tell you. We would
much rather be left alone, I assure you. Mind I don't want to say
anything rude, but that's a fact." Having blurted out this
passionately, he strode away before any one could reply, or the other
officers could stop him. They apologised for his rudeness, saying
that his brother, also in the regiment, had been killed on Sunday,
and that this, and the sun, and marching, had affected his head. The
officers told us that the enemy's advanced-guard was close behind,
but that he had apparently been waiting for reinforcements, and would
probably not attack in force until noon. It was, however, nearly
three o'clock before the battle began. We had almost worn out the
feeling of expectancy. For twelve hours had we been waiting for the
coming struggle, till at last it seemed almost as if the invasion
were but a bad dream, and the enemy, as yet unseen by us, had no real
existence. So far things had not been very different, but for the
numbers and for what we had been told, from a Volunteer review on
Brighton Downs. I remember that these thoughts were passing through
my mind as we lay down in groups on the grass, some smoking, some
nibbling at their bread, some even asleep, when the listless state we
had fallen into was suddenly disturbed by a gunshot fired from the
top of the hill on our right, close by the big house. It was the
first time I had ever heard a shotted gun fired, and although it is
fifty years ago, the angry whistle of the shot as it left the gun is
in my ears now. The sound was soon to become common enough. We all
jumped up at the report, and fell in almost without the word being
given, grasping our rifles tightly, and the leading files peering
forward to look for the approaching enemy. This gun was apparently
the signal to begin, for now our batteries opened fire all along the
line. What they were firing at I could not see, and I am sure the
gunners could not see much themselves. I have told you what a haze
had come over the air since the morning, and now the smoke from the
guns settled like a pall over the hill, and soon we could see little
but the men in our ranks, and the outline of some gunners in the
battery drawn up next us on the slope on our right. This firing went
on, I should think, for nearly a couple of hours, and still there was
no reply. We could see the gunners--it was a troop of
horse-artillery--working away like fury, ramming, loading, and
running up with cartridges, the officer in command riding slowly up
and down just behind his guns, and peering out with his field-glass
into the mist. Once or twice they ceased firing to let their smoke
clear away, but this did not do much good. For nearly two hours did
this go on, and not a shot came in reply. If a battle is like this,
said Dick Wake, who was my next-hand file, it's mild work, to say the
least. The words were hardly uttered when a rattle of musketry was
heard in front; our skirmishers were at it, and very soon the bullets
began to sing over our heads, and some struck the ground at our feet.
Up to this time we had been in column; we were now deployed into line
on the ground assigned to us. From the valley or gap on our left
there ran a lane right up the hill almost due west, or along our
front. This lane had a thick bank about four feet high, and the
greater part of the regiment was drawn up behind it; but a little way
up the hill the lane trended back out of the line, so the right of
the regiment here left it and occupied the open grass-land of the
park. The bank had been cut away at this point to admit of our going
in and out. We had been told in the morning to cut down the bushes on
the top of the bank, so as to make the space clear for firing over,
but we had no tools to work with; however, a party of sappers had
come down and finished the job. My company was on the right, and was
thus beyond the shelter of the friendly bank. On our right again was
the battery of artillery already mentioned; then came a battalion of
the line, then more guns, then a great mass of militia and volunteers
and a few line up to the big house. At least this was the order
before the firing began; after that I do not know what changes took
place.

And now the enemy's artillery began to open; where their guns were
posted we could not see, but we began to hear the rush of the shells
over our heads, and the bang as they burst just beyond. And now what
took place I can really hardly tell you. Sometimes when I try and
recall the scene, it seems as if it lasted for only a few minutes;
yet I know, as we lay on the ground, I thought the hours would never
pass away, as we watched the gunners still plying their task, firing
at the invisible enemy, never stopping for a moment except when now
and again a dull blow would be heard and a man fall down, then three
or four of his comrades would carry him to the rear. The captain no
longer rode up and down; what had become of him I do not know. Two of
the guns ceased firing for a time; they had got injured in some way,
and up rode an artillery general. I think I see him now, a very
handsome man, with straight features and a dark mustache, his breast
covered with medals. He appeared in a great rage at the guns stopping
fire.

"Who commands this battery?" he cried.

"I do, Sir Henry," said an officer, riding forward, whom I had not
noticed before.

The group is before me at this moment, standing out clear against
the background of smoke, Sir Henry erect on his splendid charger, his
flashing eye, his left arm pointing towards the enemy to enforce
something he was going to say, the young officer reining in his horse
just beside him, and saluting with his right hand raised to his
busby. This for a moment, then a dull thud, and both horses and
riders are prostrate on the ground. A round-shot had struck all four
at the saddle-line. Some of the gunners ran up to help, but neither
officer could have lived many minutes. This was not the first I saw
killed. Some time before this, almost immediately on the enemy's
artillery opening, as we were lying, I heard something like the sound
of metal striking metal, and at the same moment Dick Wake, who was
next me in the ranks, leaning on his elbows, sank forward on his
face. I looked round and saw what had happened; a shot fired at a
high elevation, passing over his head, had struck the ground behind,
nearly cutting his thigh off. It must have been the ball striking his
sheathed bayonet which made the noise. Three of us carried the poor
fellow to the rear, with difficulty for the shattered limb; but he
was nearly dead from loss of blood when we got to the doctor, who was
waiting in a sheltered hollow about two hundered yards in rear, with
two other doctors in plain clothes, who had come up to help. We
desposited our burden and returned to the front. Poor Wake was
sensible when we left him, but apparently too shaken by the shock to
be able to speak. Wood was there helping the doctors. I paid more
visits to the rear of the same sort before the evening was over.

All this time we were lying there to be fired at without returning
a shot, for our skirmishers were holding the line of walls and
enclosures below. However, the bank protected most of us, and the
brigadier now ordered our right company, which was in the open, to
get behind it also; and there we lay about four deep, the shells
crashing and bullets whistling over our heads, but hardly a man being
touched. Our colonel was, indeed, the only one exposed, for he rode
up and down the lane at a footpace as steady as a rock; but he made
the major and adjutant dismount, and take shelter behind the hedge,
holding their horses. We were all pleased to see him so cool, and it
restored our confidence in him, which had been shaken yesterday.

The time seemed interminable while we lay thus inactive. We could
not, of course, help peering over the bank to try and see what was
going on; but there was nothing to be made out, for now a tremendous
thunderstorm, which had been gathering all day, burst on us, and a
torrent of almost blinding rain came down, which obscured the view
even more than the smoke, while the crashing of the thunder and the
glare of the lightning could be heard and seen even above the roar
and flashing of the artillery. Once the mist lifted, and I saw for a
minute an attack on Box Hill, on the other side of the gap on our
left. It was like the scene at a theatre--a curtain of smoke all
round and a clear gap in the centre, with a sudden gleam of evening
sunshine lighting it up. The steep smooth slope of the hill was
crowded with the dark-blue figures of the enemy, whom I now saw for
the first time--an irregular outline in front, but very solid in
rear: the whole body was moving forward by fits and starts, the men
firing and advancing, the officers waving their swords, the columns
closing up and gradually making way. Our people were almost concealed
by the bushes at the top, whence the smoke and their fire could be
seen proceeding: presently from these bushes on the crest came out a
red line, and dashed down the brow of the hill, a flame of fire
belching out from the front as it advanced. The enemy hesitated, gave
way, and finally ran back in a confused crowd down the hill. Then the
mist covered the scene, but the glimpse of this splendid charge was
inspiriting, and I hoped we should show the same coolness when it
came to our turn. It was about this time that our skirmishers fell
back, a good many wounded, some limping along by themselves, others
helped. The main body retired in very fair order, halting to turn
round and fire; we could see a mounted officer of the Guards riding
up and down encouraging them to be steady. Now came our turn. For a
few minutes we saw nothing, but a rattle of bullets came through the
rain and mist, mostly, however, passing over the bank. We began to
fire in reply, stepping up against the bank to fire, and stooping
down to load; but our brigade-major rode up with an order, and the
word was passed through the men to reserve our fire. In a very few
moments it must have been that, when ordered to stand up, we could
see the helmet- spikes and then the figures of the skirmishers as
they came on: a lot of them there appeared to be, five or six deep I
should say, but in loose order, each man stopping to aim and fire,
and then coming forward a little. Just then the brigadier clattered
on horseback up the lane. "Now, then, gentlemen, give it them hot!"
he cried; and fire away we did, as fast as ever we were able. A
perfect storm of bullets seemed to be flying about us too, and I
thought each moment must be the last; escape seemed impossible, but I
saw no one fall, for I was too busy, and so were we all, to look to
the right or left, but loaded and fired as fast as we could. How long
this went on I know not--it could not have been long; neither side
could have lasted many minutes under such a fire, but it ended by the
enemy gradually falling back, and as soon as we saw this we raised a
tremendous shout, and some of us jumped up on the bank to give them
our parting shots. Suddenly the order was passed down the line to
cease firing, and we soon discovered the cause; a battalion of the
Guards was charging obliquely across from our left across our front.
It was, I expect, their flank attack as much as our fire which had
turned back the enemy; and it was a splendid sight to see their
steady line as they advanced slowly across the smooth lawn below us,
firing as they went, but as steady as if on parade. We felt a great
elation at this moment; it seemed as if the battle was won. Just then
somebody called out to look to the wounded, and for the first time I
turned to glance down the rank along the lane. Then I saw that we had
not beaten back the attack without loss. Immediately before me lay
Bob Lawford of my office, dead on his back from a bullet through his
forehead, his hand still grasping his rifle. At every step was some
friend or acquaintance killed or wounded, and a few paces down the
lane I found Travers, sitting with his back against the bank. A ball
had gone through his lungs, and blood was coming from his mouth. I
was lifting him up, but the cry of agony he gave stopped me. I then
saw that this was not his only wound; his thigh was smashed by a
bullet (which must have hit him when standing on the bank), and the
blood streaming down mixed in a muddy puddle with the rain-water
under him. Still he could not be left here, so, lifting him up as
well as I could, I carried him through the gate which led out of the
lane at the back to where our camp hospital was in the rear. The
movement must have caused him awful agony, for I could not support
the broken thigh, and he could not restrain his groans, brave fellow
though he was; but how I carried him at all I cannot make out, for he
was a much bigger man than myself; but I had not gone far, one of a
stream of our fellows, all on the same errand, when a bandsman and
Wood met me, bringing a hurdle as a stretcher, and on this we placed
him. Wood had just time to tell me that he had got a cart down in the
hollow, and would endeavour to take off his master at once to
Kingston, when a staff-officer rode up to call us to the ranks. "You
really must not straggle in this way, gentlemen," he said; "pray keep
your ranks." "But we can't leave our wounded to be trodden down and
die," cried one of our fellows. "Beat off the enemy first, sir," he
replied. "Gentlemen, do, pray, join your regiments, or we shall be a
regular mob." And no doubt he did not speak too soon; for besides our
fellows straggling to the rear, lots of volunteers from the regiments
in reserve were running forward to help, till the whole ground was
dotted with groups of men. I hastened back to my post, but I had just
time to notice that all the ground in our rear was occupied by a
thick mass of troops, much more numerous than in the morning, and a
column was moving down to the left of our line, to the ground before
held by the Guards. All this time, although the musketry had
slackened, the artillery-fire seemed heavier than ever; the shells
screamed overhead or burst around; and I confess to feeling quite a
relief at getting back to the friendly shelter of the lane. Looking
over the bank, I noticed for the first time the frightful execution
our fire had created. The space in front was thickly strewed with
dead and badly wounded, and beyond the bodies of the fallen enemy
could just be seen--for it was now getting dusk--the bear-skins and
red coats of our own gallant Guards scattered over the slope, and
marking the line of their victorious advance. But hardly a minute
could have passed in thus looking over the field, when our
brigade-major came moving up the lane on foot (I suppose his horse
had been shot), crying, "Stand to your arms, volunteers! they're
coming on again;" and we found ourselves a second time engaged in a
hot musketry-fire. How long it went on I cannot now remember, but we
could distinguish clearly the thick line of skirmishers, about sixty
paces off, and mounted officers among them; and we seemed to be
keeping them well in check, for they were quite exposed to our fire,
while we were protected nearly up to our shoulders, when--I know not
how--I became sensible that something had gone wrong. "We are taken
in flank!" called out some one; and looking along the left, sure
enough there were dark figures jumping over the bank into the lane
and firing up along our line. The volunteers in reserve, who had come
down to take the place of the Guards, must have given way at this
point; the enemy's skirmishers had got through our line, and turned
our left flank. How the next move came about I cannot recollect, or
whether it was without orders, but in a short time we found ourselves
out of the lane, and drawn up in a stranggling line about thirty
yards in rear of it--at our end, that is, the other flank had fallen
back a good deal more---and the enemy were lining the hedge, and
numbers of them passing over and forming up on our side. Beyond our
left a confused mass were retreating, firing as they went, followed
by the advancing line of the enemy. We stood in this way for a short
space, firing at random as fast as we could. Our colonel and major
must have been shot, for there was no one to give an order, when
somebody on horseback called out from behind--I think it must have
been the brigadier--"Now, then, volunteers! give a British, cheer,
and go at them--charge!" and, with a shout, we rushed at the enemy.
Some of them ran, some stopped to meet us, and for a moment it was a
real hand-to-hand fight. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, as I drove
my bayonet right through the man in front of me. I confess I shut my
eyes, for I just got a glimpse of the poor wretch as he fell back,
his eyes starting out of his head, and, savage though we were, the
sight was almost too horrible to look at. But the struggle was over
in a second, and we had cleared the ground again right up to the rear
hedge of the lane. Had we gone on, I believe we might have recovered
the lane too, but we were now all out of order; there was no one to
say what to do; the enemy began to line the hedge and open fire, and
they were streaming past our left; and how it came about I know not,
but we found ourselves falling back towards our right rear, scarce
any semblance of a line remaining, and the volunteers who had given
way on our left mixed up with us, and adding to the confusion. It was
now nearly dark. On the slopes which we were retreating to was a
large mass of reserves drawn up in columns. Some of the leading files
of these, mistaking us for the enemy, began firing at us; our
fellows, crying out to them to stop, ran towards their ranks, and in
a few moments the whole slope of the hill became a scene of confusion
that I cannot attempt to describe, regiments and detachments mixed up
in hopeless disorder. Most of us, I believe, turned towards the enemy
and fired away our few remaining cartridges; but it was too late to
take aim, fortunately for us, or the guns which the enemy had brought
up through the gap, and were firing point-blank, would have done more
damage. As it was, we could see little more than the bright flashes
of their fire. In our confusion we had jammed up a line regiment
immediately behind us, which I suppose had just arrived on the field,
and its colonel and some staff-officers were in vain trying to make a
passage for it, and their shouts to us to march to the rear and clear
a road could be heard above the roar of the guns and the confused
babel of sound. At last a mounted officer pushed his way through,
followed by a company in sections, the men brushing past with
firm-set faces, as if on a desperate task; and the battalion, when it
got clear, appeared to deploy and advance down the slope. I have also
a dim recollection of seeing the Life Guards trot past the front, and
push on towards the town--a last desperate attempt to save the day--
before we left the field. Our adjutant, who had got separated from
our flank of the regiment in the confusion, now came up, and managed
to lead us, or at any rate some of us, up to the crest of the hill in
the rear, to re-form, as he said; but there we met a vast crowd of
volunteers, miltia, and waggons, all hurrying rearward from the
direction of the big house, and we were borne in the stream for a
mile at least before it was possible to stop. At last the adjutant
led us to an open space a little off the line of fugitives, and there
we re- formed the remains of the companies. Telling us to halt, he
rode off to try and obtain orders, and find out where the rest of our
brigade was. From this point, a spur of high ground running off from
the main plateau, we looked down through the dim twilight into the
battle-field below. Artillery-fire was still going on. We could see
the flashes from the guns on both sides, and now and then a stray
shell came screaming up and burst near us, but we were beyond the
sound of musketry. This halt first gave us time to think about what
had happened. The long day of expectancy had been succeeded by the
excitement of battle; and when each minute may be your last, you do
not think much about other people, nor when you are facing another
man with a rifle have you time to consider whether he or you are the
invader, or that you are fighting for your home and hearths. All
fighting is pretty much alike, I suspect, as to sentiment, when once
it begins. But now we had time for reflection; and although we did
not yet quite understand how far the day had gone against us, an
uneasy feeling of self-condemnation must have come up in the minds of
most of us; while, above all, we now began to realise what the loss
of this battle meant to the country. Then, too, we knew not what had
become of all our wounded comrades. Reaction, too, set in after the
fatigue and excitement. For myself, I had found out for the first
time that beside the bayonet-wound in my leg, a bullet had gone
through my left arm, just below the shoulder, and outside the bone. I
remember feeling something like a blow just when we lost the lane,
but the wound passed unnoticed till now, when the bleeding had
stopped and the shirt was sticking to the wound.

This half-hour seemed an age, and while we stood on this knoll the
endless tramp of men and rumbling of carts along the downs besides us
told their own tale. The whole army was falling back. At last we
could discern the adjutant riding up to us out of the dark. The army
was to retreat and take up a position on Epsom Downs, he said; we
should join in the march, and try and find our brigade in the
morning; and so we turned into the throng again, and made our way on
as best we could. A few scraps of news he gave us as he rode
alongside of our leading section; the army had held its position well
for a time, but the enemy had at last broken through the line between
us and Guildford, as well as in our front, and had poured his men
through the point gained, throwing the line into confusion, and the
first army corps near Guildford were also falling back to avoid being
outflanked. The regular troops were holding the rear; we were to push
on as fast as possible to get out of their way, and allow them to
make an orderly retreat in the morning. The gallant old lord
commanding our corps had been badly wounded early in the day, he
heard, and carried off the field. The Guards had suffered dreadfully;
the household cavalry had ridden down the cuirassiers, but had got
into broken ground and been awfully cut up. Such were the scraps of
news passed down our weary column. What had become of our wounded no
one knew, and no one liked to ask. So we trudged on. It must have
been midnight when we reached Leatherhead. Here we left the open
ground and took to the road, and the block became greater. We pushed
our way painfully along; several trains passed slowly ahead along the
railway by the roadside, containing the wounded, we supposed--such of
them, at least, as were lucky enough to be picked up. It was daylight
when we got to Epsom. The night had been bright and clear after the
storm, with a cool air, which, blowing through my soaking clothes,
chilled me to the bone. My wounded leg was stiff and sore, and I was
ready to drop with exhaustion and hunger. Nor were my comrades in
much better case; we had eaten nothing since breakfast the day
before, and the bread we had put by had been washed away by the
storm: only a little pulp remained at the bottom of my bag. The
tobacco was all too wet to smoke. In this plight we were creeping
along, when the adjutant guided us into a field by the roadside to
rest awhile, and we lay down exhausted on the sloppy grass. The roll
was here taken, and only 180 answered out of nearly 500 present on
the morning of the battle. How many of these were killed and wounded
no one could tell; but it was certain many must have got separated in
the confusion of the evening. While resting here, we saw pass by, in
the crowd of vehicles and men, a cart laden with commissariat stores,
driven by a man in uniform. "Food!" cried some one, and a dozen
volunteers jumped up and surrounded the cart. The driver tried to
whip them off; but he was pulled off his seat, and the contents of
the cart thrown out in an instant. They were preserved meats in tins,
which we tore open with our bayonets. The meat had been cooked
before, I think; at any rate we devoured it. Shortly after this a
general came by with three or four staff-officers. He stopped and
spoke to our adjutant, and then rode into the field. "My lads," said
he, "you shall join my division for the present: fall in, and follow
the regiment that is now passing." We rose up, fell in by companies,
each about twenty strong, and turned once more into the stream moving
along the road;--regiments' detachments, single volunteers or
militiamen, country people making off, some with bundles, some
without, a few in carts, but most on foot; here and there waggons of
stores, with men sitting wherever there was room, others crammed with
wounded soldiers. Many blocks occurred from horses falling, or carts
breaking down and filing up the road. In the town the confusion was
even worse, for all the houses seemed full of volunteers and
militiamen, wounded or resting, or trying to find food, and the
streets were almost choked up. Some officers were in vain trying to
restore order, but the task seemed a hopeless one. One or two
volunteer regiments which had arrived from the north the previous
night, and had been halted here for orders, were drawn up along the
roadside steadily enough, and some of the retreating regiments,
including ours, may have preserved the semblance of discipline, but
for the most part the mass pushing to the rear was a mere mob. The
regulars, or what remained of them, were now, I believe, all in the
rear, to hold the advancing enemy in check. A few officers among such
a crowd could do nothing. To add to the confusion, several houses
were being emptied of the wounded brought here the night before, to
prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy, some in carts,
some being carried to the railway by men. The groans of these poor
fellows as they were jostled through the street went to our hearts,
selfish though fatigue and suffering had made us. At last, following
the guidance of a staff-officer who was standing to show the way, we
turned off from the main London road and took that towards Kingston.
Here the crush was less, and we managed to move along pretty
steadily. The air had been cooled by the storm, and there was no
dust. We passed through a village where our new general had seized
all the public- houses, and taken possession of the liquor; and each
regiment as it came up was halted, and each man got a drink of beer,
served out by companies. Whether the owner got paid, I know not, but
it was like nectar. It must have been about one o'clock in the
afternoon that we came in sight of Kingston. We had been on our legs
sixteen hours, and had got over about twelve miles of ground. There
is a hill a little south of the Surbiton station, covered then mostly
with villas, but open at the western extremity, where there was a
clump of trees on the summit. We had diverged from the road towards
this, and here the general halted us and disposed the line of the
division along his front, facing to the south-west, the right of the
line reaching down to the water-works on the Thames, the left
extending along the southern slope of the hill, in the direction of
the Epsom road by which we had come. We were nearly in the centre,
occupying the knoll just in front of the general, who dismounted on
the top and tied his horse to a tree. It is not much of a hill, but
commands an extensive view over the flat country around; and as we
lay wearily on the ground we could see the Thames glistening like a
silver field in the bright sunshine, the palace at Hampton Court, the
bridge at Kingston, and the old church tower rising above the haze of
the town, with the woods of Richmond Park behind it. To most of us
the scene could not but call up the associations of happy days of
peace--days now ended and peace destroyed through national
infatuation. We did not say this to each other, but a deep depression
had come upon us, partly due to weakness and fatigue, no doubt, but
we saw that another stand was going to be made, and we had no longer
any confidence in ourselves. If we could not hold our own when
stationary in line, on a good position, but had been broken up into a
rabble at the first shock, what chance had we now of manoeuvring
against a victorious enemy in this open ground? A feeling of
desperation came over us, a determination to struggle on against
hope; but anxiety for the future of the country, and our friends, and
all dear to us, filled our thoughts now that we had time for
reflection. We had had no news of any kind since Wood joined us the
day before---we knew not what was doing in London, or what the
Government was about, or anything else; and exhausted though we were,
we felt an intense craving to know what was happening in other parts
of the country.

Our general had expected to find a supply of food and ammunition
here, but nothing turned up. Most of us had hardly a cartridge left,
so he ordered the regiment next to us, which came from the north and
had not been engaged, to give us enough to make up twenty rounds a
man, and he sent off a fatigue-party to Kingston to try and get
provisions, while a detachment of our fellows was allowed to go
foraging among the villas in our rear; and in about an hour they
brought back some bread and meat, which gave us a slender meal all
round. They said most of the houses were empty, and that many had
been stripped of all eatables, and a good deal damaged already.

It must have been between three and four o'clock when the sound of
cannonading began to be heard in the front, and we could see the
smoke of the guns rising above the woods of Esher and Claremont, and
soon afterwards some troops emerged from the fields below us. It was
the rear-guard of regular troops. There were some guns also, which
were driven up the slope and took up their position round the knoll.
There were three batteries, but they only counted eight guns amongst
them. Behind them was posted the line; it was a brigade apparently of
four regiments, but the whole did not look to be more than eight or
nine hundred men. Our regiment and another had been moved a little to
the rear to make way for them, and presently we were ordered down to
occupy the railway station on our right rear. My leg was now so stiff
I could no longer march with the rest, and my left arm was very
swollen and sore, and almost useless; but anything seemed better than
being left behind, so I limped after the battalion as best I could
down to the station. There was a goods shed a little in advance of it
down the line, a strong brick building, and here my company was
posted. The rest of our men lined the wall of the enclosure. A staff-
officer came with us to arrange the distribution; we should be
supported by line troops, he said; and in few minutes a train full of
them came slowly up from Guildford way. It was the last; the men got
out, the train passed on, and a party began to tear up the rails,
while the rest were distributed among the houses on each side. A
sergeant's party joined us in our shed, and an engineer officer with
sappers came to knock holes in the walls for us to fire from; but
there were only half-a-dozen of them, so progress was not rapid, and
as we had no tools we could not help.

It was while we were watching this job that the adjutant, who was
as active as ever, looked in, and told us to muster in the yard. The
fatigue-party had come back from Kingston, and a small baker's hand-
cart of food was made over to us as our share. It contained loaves,
flour, and some joints of meat. The meat and the flour we had not
time or means to cook. The loaves we devoured; and there was a tap of
water in the yard, so we felt refreshed by the meal. I should have
liked to wash my wounds, which were becoming very offensive, but I
dared not take off my coat, feeling sure I should not be able to get
it on again. It was while we were eating our bread that the rumour
first reached us of another disaster, even greater than that we had
witnessed ourselves. Whence it came I know not; but a whisper went
down the ranks that Woolwich had been captured. We all knew that it
was our only arsenal, and understood the significance of the blow. No
hope, if this were true, of saving the country. Thinking over this,
we went back to the shed.

Although this was only our second day of war, I think we were
already old soldiers so far that we had come to be careless about
fire, and the shot and shell that now began to open on us made no
sensation. We felt, indeed, our need of discipline, and we saw
plainly enough the slender chance of success coming out of troops so
imperfectly trained as we were; but I think we were all determined to
fight on as long as we could. Our gallant adjutant gave his spirit to
everybody; and the staff-officer commanding was a very cheery fellow,
and went about as if we were certain of victory. Just as the firing
began he looked in to say that we were as safe as in a church, that
we must be sure and pepper the enemy well, and that more cartridges
would soon arrive. There were some steps and benches in the shed, and
on these a part of our men were standing, to fire through the upper
loop-holes, while the line soldiers and others stood on the ground,
guarding the second row. I sat on the floor, for I could not now use
my rifle, and besides, there were more men than loop-holes. The
artillery fire which had opened now on our position was from a
longish range; and occupation for the riflemen had hardly begun when
there was a crash in the shed, and I was knocked down by a blow on
the head. I was almost stunned for a time, and could not make out at
first what had happened. A shot or shell had hit the shed without
quite penetrating the wall, but the blow had upset the steps resting
against it, and the men standing on them, bringing down a cloud of
plaster and brickbats, one of which had struck me. I felt now past
being of use. I could not use my rifle, and could barely stand; and
after a time I thought I would make for my own house, on the chance
of finding some one still there. I got up therefore, and staggered
homewards. Musketry fire had now commenced, and our side were blazing
away from the windows of the houses, and from behind walls, and from
the shelter of some trucks still standing in the station. A couple of
field-pieces in the yard were firing, and in the open space in rear
of the station a reserve was drawn up. There, too, was the
staff-officer on horseback, watching the fight through his
field-glass. I remember having still enough sense to feel that the
position was a hopeless one. That straggling line of houses and
gardens would surely be broken through at some point, and then the
line must give way like a rope of sand. It was about a mile to our
house, and I was thinking how I could possibly drag myself so far
when I suddenly recollected that I was passing Travers's house,--one
of the first of a row of villas then leading from the Surbiton
station to Kingston. Had he been brought home, I wonder, as his
faithful old servant promised, and was his wife still here? I
remember to this day the sensation of shame I felt, when I
recollected that I had not once given him--my greatest friend---a
thought since I carried him off the field the day before. But war and
suffering make men selfish. I would go in now at any rate and rest
awhile, and see if I could be of use. The little garden before the
house was as trim as ever--I used to pass it every day on my way to
the train, and knew every shrub in it--and ablaze with flowers, but
the hall-door stood ajar. I stepped in and saw little Arthur standing
in the hall. He had been dressed as neatly as ever that day, and as
he stood there in his pretty blue frock and white trousers and socks
showing his chubby little legs, with his golden locks, fair face, and
large dark eyes, the picture of childish beauty, in the quiet hall,
just as it used to look--the vases of flowers, the hat and coats
hanging up, the familiar pictures on the walls--this vision of peace
in the midst of war made me wonder for a moment, faint and giddy as I
was, if the pandemonium outside had any real existence, and was not
merely a hideous dream. But the roar of the guns making the house
shake, and the rushing of the shot, gave a ready answer. The little
fellow appeared almost unconscious of the scene around him, and was
walking up the stairs holding by the railing, one step at a time, as
I had seen him do a hundred times before, but turned round as I came
in. My appearance frightened him, and staggering as I did into the
hall, my face and clothes covered with blood and dirt, I must have
looked an awful object to the child, for he gave a cry and turned to
run toward the basement stairs. But he stopped on hearing my voice
calling him back to his god-papa, and after a while came timidly up
to me. Papa had been to the battle, he said, and was very ill: mamma
was with papa: Wood was out: Lucy was in the cellar, and had taken
him there, but he wanted to go to mamma. Telling him to stay in the
hall for a minute till I called him, I climbed up-stairs and opened
the bedroom-door. My poor friend lay there, his body resting on the
bed, his head supported on his wife's shoulder as she sat by the
bedside. He breathed heavily, but the pallor of his face, the closed
eyes, the prostrate arms, the clammy foam she was wiping from his
mouth, all spoke of approaching death. The good old servant had done
his duty, at least,---he had brought his master home to die in his
wife's arms. The poor woman was too intent on her charge to notice
the opening of the door, and as the child would be better away, I
closed it gently and went down to the hall to take little Arthur to
the shelter below, where the maid was hiding. Too late! He lay at the
foot of the stairs on his face, his little arms stretched out, his
hair dabbled in blood. I had not noticed the crash among the other
noises, but a splinter of a shell must have come through the open
doorway; it had carried away the back of his head. The poor child's
death must have been instantaneous. I tried to lift up the little
corpse with my one arm, but even this load was too much for me, and
while stooping down I fainted away.

When I came to my senses again it was quite dark, and for some
time I could not make out where I was; I lay indeed for some time
like one half asleep, feeling no inclination to move. By degrees I
became aware that I was on the carpeted floor of a room. All noise of
battle had ceased, but there was a sound as of many people close by.
At last I sat up and gradually got to my feet. The movement gave me
intense pain, for my wounds were now highly inflamed, and my clothes
sticking to them made them dreadfully sore. At last I got up and
groped my way to the door, and opening it at once saw where I was,
for the pain had brought back my senses. I had been lying in
Travers's little writing- room at the end of the passage, into which
I made my way. There was no gas, and the drawing-room door was
closed; but from the open dining- room the glimmer of a candle feebly
lighted up the hall, in which half-a-dozen sleeping figures could be
discerned, while the room itself was crowded with men. The table was
covered with plates, glasses, and bottles; but most of the men were
asleep in the chairs or on the floor, a few were smoking cigars, and
one or two with their helmets on were still engaged at supper,
occasionally grunting out an observation between the mouthfuls.

"Sind wackere Soldaten, diese Englischen Freiwilligen," said a
broad- shouldered brute, stuffing a great hunch of beef into his
mouth with a silver fork, an implement I should think he must have
been using for the first time in his life.

"Ja, ja," replied a comrade, who was lolling back in his chair
with a pair of very dirty legs on the table, and one of poor
Travers's best cigars in his mouth; "Sie so gat laufen
können."

What more criticisms on the shortcomings of our unfortunate
volunteers might have passed I did not stop to hear, being
interrupted by a sound on the stairs. Mrs Travers was standing on the
landing-place; I limped up the stairs to meet her. Among the many
pictures of those fatal days engraven on my memory, I remember none
more clearly than the mournful aspect of my poor friend, widowed and
childless within a few moments, as she stood there in her white
dress, coming forth like a ghost from the chamber of the dead, the
candle she held lighting up her face, and contrasting its pallor with
the dark hair that fell disordered round it, its beauty radiant even
through features worn with fatigue and sorrow. She was calm and even
tearless, though the trembling lip told of the effort to restrain the
emotion she felt.

"Dear friend," she said, taking my hand, "I was coming to seek
you; forgive my selfishness in neglecting you so long; but you will
understand"-- glancing at the door above--"how occupied I have
been."

"Where," I began, "is--" "My boy?" she answered, anticipating my
question. "I have laid him by his father. But now your wounds must be
cared for; how pale and faint you look!--rest here a moment,"--and,
descending to the dining-room, she returned with some wine, which I
gratefully drank, and then, making me sit down on the top step of the
stairs, she brought water and linen, and cutting off the sleeve of my
coat, bathed and bandaged my wounds.

'Twas I who felt selfish for thus adding to her troubles; but in
truth I was too weak to have much will left, and stood in need of the
help which she forced me to accept; and the dressing of my wounds
afforded indescribable relief. While thus tending me, she explained
in broken sentences how matters stood. Every room but her own, and
the little parlour into which with Wood's help she had carried me,
was full of soldiers. Wood had been taken away to work at repairing
the railroad, and Lucy had run off from fright; but the cook had
stopped at her post, and had served up supper and opened the cellar
for the soldiers' use: she herself did not understand what they said,
and they were rough and boorish, but not uncivil. I should now go,
she said, when my wounds were dressed, to look after my own home,
where I might be wanted; for herself, she wished only to be allowed
to remain watching there--glancing at the room where lay the bodies
of her husband and child--where she would not be molested. I felt
that her advice was good. I could be of no use as protection, and I
had an anxious longing to know what had become of my sick mother and
sister; besides, some arrangement must be made for the burial. I
therefore limped away. There was no need to express thanks on either
side, and the grief was too deep to be reached by any outward show of
sympathy.

Outside the house there was a good deal of movement and bustle;
many carts going along, the waggoners, from Sussex and Surrey,
evidently impressed and guarded by soldiers; and although no gas was
burning, the road towards Kingston was well lighted by torches held
by persons standing at short intervals in line, who had been seized
for the duty, some of them the tenants of neighbouring villas. Almost
the first of these torch-bearers I came to was an old gentleman whose
face I was well acquainted with, from having frequently travelled up
and down in the same train with him. He was a senior clerk in a
Government office, I believe, and was a mildlooking old man with a
prim face and a long neck, which he used to wrap in a white double
neckcloth, a thing even in those days seldom seen. Even in that
moment of bitterness I could not help being amused by the absurd
figure this poor old fellow presented, with his solemn face and long
cravat doing penance with a torch in front of his own gate, to light
up the path of our conquerors. But a more serious object now
presented itself, a corporal's guard passing by, with two English
volunteers in charge, their hands tied behind their backs. They cast
an imploring glance at me, and I stepped into the road to ask the
corporal what was the matter, and even ventured, as he was passing
on, to lay my hand on his sleeve.

"Auf dem Wege, Spitzbube!" cried the brute, lifting his rifle as
if to knock me down. "Must one prisoners who fire at us let shoot,"
he went on to add; and shot the poor fellows would have been, I
suppose, if I had not interceded with an officer, who happened to be
riding by.

"Herr Hauptmann," I cried, as loud as I could, "is this your
discipline, to let unarmed prisoners be shot without orders?"

The officer, thus appealed to, reined in his horse, and halted the
guard till he heard what I had to say. My knowledge of other
languages here stood me in good stead, for the prisoners,
northcountry factory hands apparently, were of course utterly unable
to make themselves understood, and did not even know in what they had
offended. I therefore interpreted their explanation: they had been
left behind while skirmishing near Ditton, in a barn, and coming out
of their hiding-place in the midst of a party of the enemy, with
their rifles in their hands, the latter thought they were going to
fire at them from behind. It was a wonder they were not shot down on
the spot. The captain heard the tale, and then told the guard to let
them go, and they slunk off at once into a by-road. He was a fine
soldier-like man, but nothing could exceed the insolence of his
manner, which was perhaps all the greater because it seemed not
intentional, but to arise from a sense of immeasurable superiority.
Between the lame freiwilliger pleading for his comrades, and the
captain of the conquering army, there was, in his view, an infinite
gulf. Had the two men been dogs, their fate could not have been
decided more contemptuously. They were let go simply because they
were not worth keeping as prisoners, and perhaps to kill any living
thing without cause went against the hauptmann's sense of justice.
But why speak of this insult in particular? Had not every man who
lived then his tale to tell of humiliation and degradation? For it
was the same story everywhere. After the first stand in line, and
when once they had got us on the march, the enemy laughed at us. Our
handful of regular troops was sacrificed almost to a man in a vain
conflict with numbers; our volunteers and militia, with officers who
did not know their work, without ammunition or equipment, or staff to
superintend, starving in the midst of plenty, we had soon become a
helpless mob, fighting desperately here and there, but with whom, as
a manoeuvring army, the disciplined invaders did just what they
pleased. Happy those whose bones whitened the fields of Surrey; they
at least were spared the disgrace we lived to endure. Even you, who
have never known what it is to live otherwise than on sufferance,
even your cheeks burn when we talk of these days; think, then, what
those endured who, like your grandfather, had been citizens of the
proudest nation on earth, which had never known disgrace or defeat,
and whose boast it used to be that they bore a flag on which the sun
never set! We had heard of generosity in war; we found none; the war
was made by us, it was said, and we must take the consequences.
London and our only arsenal captured, we were at the mercy of our
captors, and right heavily did they tread on our necks. Need I tell
you the rest?--of the ransom we had to pay, and the taxes raised to
cover it, which keep us paupers to this day?--the brutal frankness
that announced we must give place to a new naval Power, and be made
harmless for revenge?--the victorious troops living at free quarters,
the yoke they put on us made the more galling that their requisitions
had a semblance of method and legality? Better have been robbed at
first hand by the soldiery themselves, than through our own
magistrates made the instruments for extortion. How we lived through
the degradation we daily and hourly underwent, I hardly even now
understand. And what was there left to us to live for? Stripped of
our colonies; Canada and the West Indies gone to America; Australia
forced to separate; India lost for ever, after the English there had
all been destroyed, vainly trying to hold the country when cut off
from aid by their countrymen; Gibraltar and Malta ceded to the new
naval Power; Ireland independent and in perpetual anarchy and
revolution. When I look at my country as it is now--its trade gone,
its factories silent, its harbours empty, a prey to pauperism and
decay--when I see all this, and think what Great Britain was in my
youth, I ask myself whether I have really a heart or any sense of
patriotism that I should have witnessed such degradation and still
care to live! France was different. There, too, they had to eat the
bread of tribulation under the yoke of the conqueror! their fall was
hardly more sudden or violent than ours; but war could not take away
their rich soil; they had no colonies to lose; their broad lands,
which made their wealth, remained to them; and they rose again from
the blow. But our people could not be got to see how artificial our
prosperity was--that it all rested on foreign trade and financial
credit; that the course of trade once turned away from us, even for a
time, it might never return; and that our credit once shaken might
never be restored. To hear men talk in those days, you would have
thought that Providence had ordained that our Government should
always borrow at three per cent, and that trade came to us because we
lived in a foggy little island set in a boisterous sea. They could
not be got to see that the wealth heaped up on every side was not
created in the country, but in India and China, and other parts of
the world; and that it would be quite possible for the people who
made money by buying and selling the natural treasures of the earth,
to go and live in other places, and take their profits with them. Nor
would men believe that there could ever be an end to our coal and
iron, or that they would get to be so much dearer than the coal and
iron of America that it would no longer be worth while to work them,
and that therefore we ought to insure against the loss of our
artificial position as the great centre of trade, by making ourselves
secure and strong and respected. We thought we were living in a
commercial millennium, which must last for a thousand years at least.
After all the bitterest part of our reflection is, that all this
misery and decay might have been so easily prevented, and that we
brought it about ourselves by our own shortsighted recklessness.
There, across the narrow Straits, was the writing on the wall, but we
would not choose to read it. The warnings of the few were drowned in
the voice of the multitude. Power was then passing away from the
class which had been used to rule, and to face political dangers, and
which had brought the nation with honour unsullied through former
struggles, into the hands of the lower classes, uneducated, untrained
to the use of political rights, and swayed by demagogues; and the few
who were wise in their generation were denounced as alarmists, or as
aristocrats who sought their own aggrandisement by wasting public
money on bloated armaments. The rich were idle and luxurious; the
poor grudged the cost of defence. Politics had become a mere bidding
for Radical votes, and those who should have led the nation stooped
rather to pander to the selfishness of the day, and humoured the
popular cry which denounced those who would secure the defence of the
nation by enforced arming of its manhood, as interfering with the
liberties of the people. Truly the nation was ripe for a fall; but
when I reflect how a little firmness and self-denial, or political
courage and foresight, might have averted the disaster, I feel that
the judgment must have really been deserved. A nation too selfish to
defend its liberty, could not have been fit to retain it. To you, my
grandchildren, who are now going to seek a new home in a more
prosperous land, let not this bitter lesson be lost upon you in the
country of your adoption. For me, I am too old to begin life again in
a strange country; and hard and evil as have been my days, it is not
much to await in solitude the time which cannot now be far off, when
my old bones will be laid to rest in the soil I have loved so well,
and whose happiness and honour I have so long survived.